Enrich Perfection
by linalove
Summary: 'Magdalena Bakker. The little nit who thought it wise to offend him in a language he cannot understand. How…rude and inferior. Like her birth. His inner voice adds and he grins a bit. It doesn't matter. Her kind is always more fun.' (An OC/Rochester story I had previously published here but deleted.)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

 **A/N:** **I realized that I had deleted this story from the site. I have no idea why I did that, but here it is again for anyone interested to read this. Thanks!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.**

* * *

 **~Enrich perfection~**

 **Chapter 1**

' ** _It is only imperfection that complains of what is imperfect. The more perfect we are, the more gentle and quiet we become towards the defects of others.'_**

 ** _~ Joseph Addison_**

 ** _Adderbury, Oxfordshire, 1676_**

The rain is pounding hard against the rooftops.

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The large open field looks like a huge swamp. The horses are already stuck in the dreadful mud. The young stable boy handling their reins is already ready to collapse from the strain. His hands are bleeding and sweat is sliding down the side of his face, mingling with the heavy drops of rain, but he doesn't stop.

The horses are huffing and neighing in response to the rough handling, but the boy is relentless. Their work is already ruined by the heavy rain, but he will not let the animals die in this weather as well.

The boy lets out a triumphant yell when the two stallions finally, _finally_ , move forward and pull the large cart onward. Their muzzles move from side to side as they struggle with the weight, but they are muscled enough and the young man keeps on forcing them forward. He will take good care of them later.

The wood inside the cart is soaked and it will probably be useless to the household for a while, but still. It'd be a same not to salvage it.

His elation doesn't last long. One of the reins slips from his hold and the already startled horse jumps backwards, the animal's two front legs lurching precariously towards the young man. An undignified yelp escapes his mouth and he stumbles backwards. His back connects with the mud with a loud sloppy sound and severe pain erupts up and down his spine. As a result to his fall, the other horse is set free as well.

Rolling onto his side, he tries to sit up but a horse's hoof is enough to send him down again, howling in pain. He blinks hard in an attempt to see better, but the heavy rain in too much for his eyes.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he reopens his eyes, the sounds of the horses too loud in his ears. The face that he encounters is enough to make him panic more. It's her again. She needs to stay out of trouble. She never listens.

"Get back!" he yells through the rain and thunder, but the woman simply rises from her kneeling position and gently, albeit a bit inelegantly, makes her way towards the angered animals.

"Shh." The little noise she makes causes the horses' ears to twitch and so she does it again and again until at least one of the stallions is calm enough for her to approach further.

She outstretches her hands, small and roughened from field work, and gently touches the black horse's muzzle with just the tips of her fingers. It neighs threateningly and jolts backwards and she purses her lips, slightly curling them into a tiny smile as she touches it with her full palm.

" _/Easy/"._

"Leentje!" The boy calls out at her, but she simply leans forwards again, choosing to ignore the sloppy pronunciation of her name. The horse huffs and in a quick move she manages to catch the reins. The horse neighs loudly at the manipulation and she releases a tiny chuckle as she uses her grip on the rope to pull the animal forward. The stallion's long legs have some difficulty in manoeuvring themselves in the sticky mud, but he moves sullenly forward. The dark grey horse beside it follows as well with an objecting neigh that makes the boy laugh.

"All well there?" he calls as he manages to stand up, holding onto his side and hoping that she can at least understand those three simple words.

"Ja." Her response is quiet, too quiet, and he isn't sure if she fully understands his words but the boy shakes his head in amusement while he shots a look at all the other men who are standing safely underneath the cover of the stables. Their leers and snorts are prominent in the air, but the young man expects nothing less. She doesn't seem to mind the taunting. She simple does her work and keeps her eyes lowered.

His lips twitch in disappointment and he only prays that the Earl is not lurking somewhere watching his workmen sit back while they ought to be working. Rumour has it that he is back from London.

All goes relatively well and she manages to pull the animals closer to the stables, but suddenly a thunder jolts the ground underneath their feet and mayhem dominates the scene again. This time, more men move forward as the horses free themselves and manage to tip the cart and its contents over and right into the mud.

The woman is thrown out of balance and she too falls backwards. Her working cap is knocked off her head and her dark hair tumbles down her shoulders in dark soaked strands. Her clothes are soiled to an unrecognizable state and she can feel the sludge sticking to her feet and drawing her deeper into the dirt.

Shouts permit the air and suddenly a pair of gloved hands makes a grab for the flailing reins. The men are stunned into silence as the sound of a whip accompanies the chaos of the storm. The sharp leather falls upon the backs of the rebellious stallions once, but it is enough to send them into compliance.

Leentje wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, the only thing that has been left unsoiled, and sits up as the man manages to quiet the horses down, her features a scowl at the sight of the leather. Her eyes move from the whip and focus on the man's dark brown boots before they slide upwards and towards his long cloak. His hair is past his shoulders and his facial expression is fierce as he moves his stare from the stallions to the dropped, soaked wood. He looks displeased; his mouth is curled as he eyes the animals with reproach.

 _Who is he?_

Her silent question remains unanswered when the man's dark brown gaze falls upon her like a huge tidal wave. She flinches at his displayed disdain.

"Thomas." The way he pronounces the name is clipped and venomous and the boy scrambles to move forward.

"Me Lord?" He sniffs as the rain continues to bat his face.

 _Lord? Heer?_ Her eyes widen minutely.

Her confusion rises when the man motions towards her undignified heap of limbs with his uplifted chin.

Thomas' eyes widen and he leans down, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. She manages to stay upright and boldly looks at the man. Thomas shakes her arm and she turns to him with confusion.

"The Earl of Rochester."

The whisper is too low for her untrained ears. The language is only barely familiar to her, but she quickly understands one word. Rochester. _Heer_ of the house. Master, yes?

Ducking her head in a belated gesture of respect, she is surprised to hear him snort derisively. Looking up a bit, she watches with confusion as he slowly hands the reins over to a servant worker and steps closer to her and Thomas. He doesn't seem too bothered by the rain. His eyes are intense and slightly narrowed, and he is still holding onto the whip.

Thomas quickly releases her and takes a step away as the man approaches them.

"My, my…" he drawls in a smooth deep voice as he taps the leather tip of the whip against the palm of his hand, regarding her with a cocked eyebrow. His gaze travels from her dirty face, to her soaked hair only to move downwards to her over-spilling bodice. It's barely her size and terribly tight and stifling, but she has no other clothes.

The frown that his inspection causes upon her face is enough for him to scowl in displeasure, his handsome features twisting into derisive curves.

" _Milkmaid_ , Thomas? She _won't_ do."

"Me Lord, I-…"

"She ought to be with the animals, not working in the dams. The animals are on the _other_ side of the estate." He is speaking slowly, as if to a child and she looks at him and then at Thomas with a tiny frown. His voice would have been charming if it wasn't so…biting. Even with her limited knowledge of their tongue she can understand the cruel undertone.

"Report to my mother at once. She will know where to… place you."

She knows he is talking to her, Leentje knows, but she can only look up in puzzlement as he stares at her over-curvaceous form with barely contained amusement.

His mocking gaze is enough for her to duck her head again in embarrassment.

"Did you not hear what I said?" The Earl's tone is barely controlled and everyone knows how he hates to be in the rain and mud. The curl of his lip is enough to show his irritation at being delayed by a mere servant.

"Me Lord, she doesn't understand very well. She is new here." Thomas' tone is meek and terribly controlled.

"What do you mean she doesn't _understand_? She is not deaf, is she?" Rochester is looking at the woman with closer scrutiny now, tapping the whip more rapidly against his gloved palm.

"She's a foreigner." Thomas squints through the rain to look at Rochester.

The Earl pauses and a resigned expression passes over his face before he rolls his eyes, "Fine. Lead her to my mother then." There is annoyance in his voice and a tiny smidgen of boredom.

"No, me Lord. The Countess said there is no other position at the moment. Once Maria is due then there will be an empty placement and she is strong and-…"

"Alright!" he snaps and forcefully smacks Thomas' arm with the whip, "Make sure she doesn't cause such uproar again. Get back inside and tend to the horses. The whips are in the stables for a reason. _Use them_." He eyes the younger man with exasperation and then turns away, "Be here at five tomorrow. Away!" He shoos the men out of his way by flourishing the whip and then stomps towards the large manor, his strides wide and rapid.

Leentje watches him go and she scowls at his back. Thomas' hand invades her vision and she is startled.

"Oi." She looks at him and he shakes his head, "Never stare. You never know what he'll do. _Stoppen_." He mutters in her mother language and she quickly nods. Satisfied with her reply, he waves towards the barricade that leads to the stables and straight to the workers' cabins.

Moving swiftly, she moves forward and Thomas follows her closely, his expression fatigued.

Stopping suddenly, Leentje turns around again and gently leans down and picks up her dirty cap. Folding it in two and looking at it morosely, she turns around once more and heads for the stables in small, shaky and graceless strides.

 **End of chapter 1**

 **Author's note: So…Liked it? Hated it? Let me know. It gets more…** ** _interesting_** **as we go on. Promise. Leentje's back story and roots will be revealed in the next chapters. Also, her name is pronounced** _ **Leen-tke.**_ **And it is a pet name. Her actual name will be revealed in the next chap.**

 ***Translations:**

 **Ja= yes**

 **Heer= Lord**

 **Stoppen= stop it***


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Chapter 2**

 **A/N: Hello and welcome back.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.**

 ** _*Sentences in italics mean that the characters are speaking Dutch.*_**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

' ** _There is a kind of beauty in imperfection.'_**

 ** _~Conrad Hall_**

There is no rain, but the extreme humidity is soaking her clothes and making her bones ache. Her feet are strong as she uses them to sit up from her kneeling position, but the ground is not helping her move swiftly. In fact, it is weighing her down and making each step a chore. Her task is not that difficult, not really. Helping Thomas and another man, but they need assistance when she is in the middle of something else and that causes her skin to flush with impatience. She is not allowed to work as they do, but she has to be at their beck and call when they need more planks of wood or a flask of water.

She is in the middle of standing up from Thomas' side when her shoulder bumps painfully with a solid and heavily clothed chest. Her eyes widen minutely when the flask is knocked from her hand. Her sudden stumble releases the cap from her head and her hair tumbles irritably forward, brushing against her cheeks and neck and sticking to her sweaty skin. Huffing, she pushes it back with a dirty hand and then looks up.

Dark brown collides with honey brown and for a moment she is stunned into stillness. The cocked eyebrow of her master is enough to send her backwards as if burned. The man's eyes study her. From her four inches deep in mud skirt, to her apron and corset underneath, only to stop at the exposed skin of her collarbones. The thin scarf around her neck doesn't do much to cover her tattered dress and she tugs at it shamefully.

Leaning down, the Earl catches the flask and regards it with an obvious look of disgust. It's covered in dirt. Just like his boots. She wonders why he always wears that expression on his face. He has such fine features. He reminds her of her father when he was young. He was just as handsome, yet he always smiled…Back home.

Holding it between a few of his fingers, he presses it against her stomach with a scowl.

"Be careful. You never know what's in this horrid mud." He mutters, but she only understands the first two words. The rest are just a jumbled mess of syllables inside her head. She fights with the urge to click her tongue. She needs to intensify her efforts to learn the language. Heer Rochester doesn't seem as patient as Thomas. No. In fact, he is looking at her with barely disguised boredom.

"Continue with…" His eyes sweep her form and she swallows hard, "whatever it is you're doing." He looks away from her and shoots a glance at the other workmen. They are staring at her and her over-spilling bosom.

His nose curls in distaste. Doesn't she own a dress her size? She looks utterly ridiculous. His lip follows his nose and he can see that he is making the little milkmaid uncomfortable. Good. She ought to be.

His eyes lock with hers for a moment and he smirks. Hell, he can barely make out her skin underneath all the grime and sweat. Nevertheless, she provides much needed distraction and amusement for him while he is here. Perhaps he ought to be outside all day to watch this supple, round lass fight with his land.

"Thomas!"

The young man's head snaps up at that, "Me Lord?"

"How does it look?" he asks as he brushes her aside and moves forward.

Leentje watches with increasing panic as he steps on her previously clean cap. She releases a small noise of indignation and watches Rochester's back with slightly narrowed eyes.

He simply smirks a bit to himself, fully aware of his rude deed, but focuses his attention on the boy.

"We need more hands, me Lord. And more planks. These won't hold another flood." Thomas doesn't dare to look away from the Earl though he is aware of the distressed female behind him.

"I'll see to that. For now gather the others." Rochester looks up and scowls, "Looks like another storm is coming."

Thomas nods and pushes his shovel deep into the ground before he stands up.

Leentje releases a shaky breath, her eyes still on her cap and on the Earl's expensive boot, but she makes no sound. She simply turns to walk away. A snort causes her to falter and then she feels something poking her thigh. Looking down with wide eyes, she sees the long walking stick. For a moment she is confused, but then Thomas calls her name. She slowly turns around again. Thomas looks amused and ready to chuckle while the Earl is eyeing her with a quirked eyebrow and a look of utter hilarity and condescension; all at her expense. He is rhythmically tapping his foot against the mushy ground, the tip of his boot just by her mucky cap.

Flushing with embarrassment and mild anger, she swiftly leans down and snatches the cloth, presenting both men with the generous amount of skin displayed from her cleavage.

Rochester's eyebrow travels even higher up his forehead and he smirks while Thomas clears his throat awkwardly.

Leentje straightens and raises her eyes to Rochester. Instead of ducking her head, she slowly shakes her head at him and the smirk falls right off his face. All amusement is gone when he notices her critical expression and he is for a moment overthrown by the severe look in her brown eyes; eyes that are similar to his own and have never before in his entire life caught such a great deal of his attention. Never.

 _Odd._

She mutters something under her breath, judgmental look still in place and Rochester feels rebuked without even understanding the words. Is it possible to feel that way with a single look?

"What did you say?" His voice is loud and he is not certain if he sounds authoritative or simply offended. He would _loathe_ it if it was the latter. She is just a girl; a mousy, dark haired little peasant girl with dirty skin and too many curves to be pleasing to the eye; especially his eye.

The girl looks up and without removing her gaze from his narrowed eyes, slowly repeats the words.

" _Slechte meester."_ Abruptly and with slightly wounded eyes, she turns and walks away along with the rest of the men.

Rochester's eyes follow her until she is too far away for him to actually see her. Tightening his hold on his walking stick, he turns to the younger man, his scowl firmly in place.

"What did she say?" he asks through slightly clenched teeth and Thomas gulps a little.

"Eh…she…"

"That was not a question. It was a command, lad." He warns darkly and Thomas shifts nervously, "You do know what she said, don't deny it. Speak."

The lad sighs, "She said _bad master_." He replies at last, wincing when Rochester's head swivels sharply towards the direction of the stables.

"How do you know her tongue?" The Earl murmurs, his features stretched in intrigue and yet the irritation is still firmly settled in his eyes.

"My mother was from Holland, Sir."

Rochester's mouth twitches when he hears female laughter coming from behind the stables and he is pretty certain that her amusement has something to do with the horses.

"What's her name?" His eyes do not move from the direction of her voice and Thomas blinks, his gut weighing him down with dread.

"Er…Magdalena, sir. But everybody calls her Leentje." He speaks with caution because he can already see the interest growing in his master's eyes. The infamous poet never busies himself with anything but beauties and yet…here he is, eyes aflame for a foreign peasant woman.

"Is that so?" Rochester licks his bottom lip before he finally looks at the boy, "Which cabin is hers?"

Thomas' eyes widen and Rochester laughs, "Keep your wits about, lad. I have no intentions of sullying your protégé's honour. Especially if she's always _that_ dirty." His lip curls slightly at the mere thought and Thomas blinks in confusion.

"Then why do you-…?"

"Answer the question."

"She resides with Maria, sir. Just behind the stables. Second cabin." His response is laced with reluctance and when the Earl smirks and turns to stomp away, Thomas speaks.

"Don't dismiss her, sir. She's loyal. Ain't got a single spare piece of clothing on her back. That cap you stomped on is the only thing she owns."

Rochester pauses, eyebrow cocked in further intrigue.

Without turning to look at the servant, he languidly twirls the handle of his walking stick between his long fingers, mouth pursed in slyness.

"The dress is borrowed from Maria." The lad is closer to him now and the Earl tries hard not to roll his eyes at the drama.

"Walked all the way from London she did, sir. The Countess, your mother, was the only one who agreed to hire her…After Lady Elizabeth's intervention of course." Thomas adds and Rochester sneers as he faces the large manor.

 _Of course. Elizabeth is a saint._

"Don't start crying on me now, lad." He turns to look at the youth from over his shoulder, "I have no intention of dismissing Miss…"

"Bakker."

He resists the urge to chuckle in wicked triumph. The boy is too easy to manipulate.

 _Wonderful._ And he was wondering what he could do to relieve the awful boredom of the country.

"Yes, indeed. I have no intentions of dismissing Ms. Bakker. Now, off you go. You look awful."

He can literally hear the lad's sigh of relief as he resumes his suave saunter towards the manor and he cannot help the hoarse amused chuckle that escapes his throat.

Magdalena Bakker. The little nit who thought it wise to offend him in a language he cannot understand. How…rude and inferior.

 _Like her birth._ His inner voice adds and he grins a bit. It doesn't matter. Her kind is always more fun.

He pauses momentarily as an idea flashes and roots itself deep inside his mind, "Before you go, fetch me my horse." He thunders and Thomas hurries to oblige, oblivious of the Earl's dark glimmering eyes.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"It is of no great consequence if you take it."

The familiar female voice causes her to whirl around. Facing away from her meagre laundry, she tightens the borrowed shawl around her shoulders, her expression curious as Maria approaches her with a pot of food.

" _The shawl."_ she clarifies in Leentje's native tongue and watches as the other woman smiles in gratitude, but shakes her head.

" _Thank you, but no."_ Dark hair falls in front of her eyes as the round from child woman comes and places the pot of food on a low wooden stool by the door.

" _Eat it while it's still warm…"_ Maria motions towards the food and Leentje smiles, " _I shall bring milk later. The Countess feels generous today…"_

" _Why is that?"_

Maria sighs, _"The King's commission arrived today…I think that means Lord Rochester has been good."_ Maria snickers and Leentje frowns in remembrance.

" _He is vile."_

Maria's laughter stops, " _You think so?"_

" _Yes. Arrogant, cruel and vile."_ Her gaze falls on her slightly ripped cap that is hanging on the string to dry and Maria sighs.

" _I told you not to wear it-…"_

" _It brings me good luck. It was mother's."_ Leentje gasps horrified, " _She will be angry."_

Maria looks at her hesitantly, _"She is dead…"_

Leentje shakes her head and pulls the shawl tighter around her, " _The people we love never leave us…"_ Her eyes drop to the ground and when she looks up there is a smile on her lips, _"She brought me here."_

Maria laughs, " _Great deal of good that did you. Did my brother ask about me?"_

Leentje shakes her head in the negative.

" _Foolish lad…I better get back. Tend to the fire or we won't catch any sleep tonight again…"_

Maria walks away and Leentje is left to stare after her. Burrowing closer into the shawl, she turns and heads back inside the small cabin, shutting the door behind her.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Nightfall has arrived and the air is chilly as she steps outside to gather her dress. It is dry, but extremely cold and she quickly folds it in two, thrusting it underneath her arm as she turns to walk back inside, her face a crease of worry because of Maria's absence.

Just as she moves to shut the light door, horse's hooves cause her to freeze.

Eyes wide, she turns to face the intruder and she whirls around just in time to see none other than the Earl of Rochester himself jumping over the low fence with the help of his strong, muscled stallion.

Frozen in place, Leentje can do nothing but stare at him as he slows down to a light trot, his expression blank, but his eyes dancing.

Scowling, she hugs the dress closer to her thinly clothed form.

He doesn't speak. His eyes take in the workers' cabins, they brush over the stables behind him and finally they move to settle on her stiff form by the door.

His hair is in disarray from the wind and curly locks are clinging to his cheeks and neck, obscuring his eyes in the semi darkness. And yet, she knows that he is studying her.

She feels threatened. She doesn't know why. She feels threatened by this man and she barely knows him. There is something…different about him. Something…dark. His features ought to make him angelic, but they don't. They make him seem devious.

She doesn't speak though. Her manipulation of the English language is not adequate. She only just knows a few words and it would be rather rude of her to break the silence with a very unrefined _what_. He is the Lord of the county after all.

She doesn't have to make the decision though. He makes it for her. Slowly, and with obviously practiced ease, he raises his hand and beckons her closer with his forefinger and middle finger. As if she's his private chambermaid.

Mask of distrust in place, she takes small, measured footsteps towards his lordship. The way his gaze moves over her is not lost to her however. There is a look of unadulterated surprise on his face the closer she comes to him. Why is he looking at her like that? She has complete knowledge of herself, but still…Men like him don't look at her….Not like that.

Looking down at herself rather self-consciously, she misses the tiny smirk that passes over his features.

No words are spoken when she arrives next to his horse. He doesn't even breathe loudly when he reaches into his pocket and produces a neatly folded cloth. It's white.

Frowning, she watches as he outstretches his hand towards her. His eyes are expectant as she studies his hand like it's the plague itself.

Leentje doesn't move and he rolls his eyes; slowly and mockingly.

He clicks his tongue and she simply knows that he always gets what he wants. Stubbornly, she doesn't move to take his offering. What is it anyway?

Her eyes focus on his hand and she watches as the gold of his ring glimmers in the semi darkness. She cannot even imagine owning such a gem.

He cocks an eyebrow at her stare and his brown eyes move to his ring. Smirking in amusement and secret satisfaction, he clears his throat. As expected, she flushes and the blush brings out the paleness of her skin; the paleness of her very much _clean_ skin. Where is all the... _dirt_?

His mouth waters at the sight of white skin and supple flesh that is peeking from underneath the mockery of a shawl she has on. His eyes roam her form and he tries not to notice the fullness of her hips, the thickness of her thighs or the roundness of her belly. She is nothing like the women he spends his time with. No…Men wouldn't even turn to look at her twice. However, she chooses this moment to look into his eyes and his last thought is rebuked.

 _No, they wouldn't. Unless they were to look at that._

The right corner of his mouth curls up in a half smirk and she is startled. Quickly and obviously out of fear, she takes the cloth from his hand.

He lowers his hand upon his thigh and watches her as she curiously studies the offering.

Leentje moves her fingers over the cloth and she is surprised by how soft the fabric feels. It's cotton, for sure, but the trimming is made out of lace.

Eyes wide she thrusts it towards his lap, taking a step back while shaking her head. Accept a gift? From a man like him? Never.

"No."

She uses one of the words she is familiar with and watches as his face gets cloudy.

Expression blank all of a sudden, he leans down and presses the new cap against her chest and she has no option but to clutch it tightly.

Pulling his hand back, his extremely _soft_ hand, he grabs the reins of his horse and heavily pats the stallion's sides.

The black horse neighs softly and the Earl guides it away from her and her small cabin, leaving her to stare after him with increasing dread and confusion.

 **End of chapter 2**

 **Author's note: Thank you for reading. Liked it? Hated it? Please, let me know.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Chapter 3**

 **A/N: Welcome back!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.**

 **Chapter 3**

' ** _She was no longer the milkmaid but a visionary essence of woman-a whole sex condensed into one typical form.'_**

 ** _~Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d'Urbevilles_**

"So, _that_ is what has kept you isolated in here?"

John does not turn to face his friend. He simply carries on looking outside the window. His fingers gently flex around the goblet of wine as he listens to the footsteps behind him.

"Staring at the gardens." George Etherege removes his hat and comes to stand right next to Rochester, his lips pressed into a mildly condescending smile.

The Earl doesn't turn to look at him. Not at all. He has his eyes trained on the heaving maiden just outside the window, just a few yards out of his reach.

"What do you want, George? You can't have missed me already." He takes a sip from the red wine, swirling the dark crimson liquid inside his mouth, savouring the taste of it on his tongue until the object of his attention leans down to pick up her skirts in order to move around the humid grounds of his estate.

"You have such little faith on me, dear friend. Why?" George frowns and eyes Rochester carefully, "What _are_ you staring at?" He turns to look outside, but at that moment the Earl moves, abruptly turning away from the glass to face the man.

"I am not staring. I am supervising. Something you wouldn't know anything about. Now, what do you want? I am in no mood to visit the inn today." He eyes Etherege with a cocked eyebrow and the man looks suspicious as he glances briefly at him.

"I am curious about the play, Johnny. That is all."

The Earl snorts derisively, his eyes flickering towards the window fleetingly from time to time.

"Don't tell me you're here to offer your nonexistent prose skills." He drawls as he places a hand on his hip, wanting, but hesitating to face the tempting view that is the gardens.

"You wound me…" Etherege murmurs, "How is your wife?"

Rochester pauses, his brow furrowing, "Fine…She is not here."

"Pity. I brought her roses. I know she adores them."

The Earl eyes the small bouquet on the table with boredom. "She is visiting her mother with the children."

"Which gives you more freedom to gawk at the chubby servant." Etherege smirks at having finally spotted his friend's target. He stifles the urge to snicker.

"Don't be ridiculous." Rochester mutters, "I do not need anyone's permission to do that anyway. You on the other hand, cannot take a step out of line without a proper flogging from your wife. Tell me, do you enjoy that?"

Etherege clears his throat and ignoring the unsavoury comment, waves his hand towards the trees, "Who is she?"

"No one." The response is reflexive and he resists the urge to frown at his own words.

 _What the fuck are you doing?_

"Quit fucking around, Johnny. You were staring at the servant. What's her name?"

Rochester's lip curls upwards, his eyes narrow in irritation, "I do _not_ know. Drink?" he spats and Etherege chuckles.

"Sure."

"Good. Pour yourself a glass then." Rochester turns and stomps to his favourite armchair by the fire. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he watches as his friend shakes his head, looks one last time outside and then walks to the wine pitcher on the table.

Pouring the drink, he eyes the Earl who is in the process of downing the remnants of his own drink down his throat.

"How are the improvements going?"

Rochester beckons him closer, outstretching his hand with the empty glass, silently commanding for a refill.

"Awful. Dreadful. These floods set my teeth on edge. It's dangerous and the men are reluctant."

Etherege fights the urge to smirk, "The payment is not enough for them to risk their heads for the sake of the county's Lord and master?"

"Go to hell and don't come back. It isn't a game. Of course you wouldn't know that. You live in London. I wonder if you'd be able to survive a week in the country, Georgie." Rochester takes a greedy sip from his glass and his eyes inadvertently find the window again.

"Oh, hush up, you old nag. You just sit back and watch. You order these people around." Etherege collapses in a chair and Rochester's spine quivers with agitation.

"What do you want?" he spats again and George sighs.

"I came to see you after your abrupt leave from the premiere. What happened, Johnny?"

"You happened." Rochester stands up again, ignoring the slight pain that shoots up and down his belly as he makes his way back to the window, pressing his forehead against the cool surface, "Now that you're here I have to suggest that you stay the night." He turns to glance at the shorter man from over his shoulder, "That is, of course, what my breeding commands me to do." He smirks and Etherege barks out a laugh that causes Rochester's head to throb with further frustration.

"Why, thank you. I accept. I love this house." Etherege stretches his legs and Rochester rolls his eyes.

"Did your mistress kick you out in the street, Georgie?" he drawls as his eyes focus on the cap-less mess of hair displayed ahead. His mouth twitches as the girl collapses next to an apple tree in sheer exhaustion. Her legs are parted invitingly as she takes a seat on the humid grass, facing him and subjecting him to the addicting simplicity of her presence. Cocking an eyebrow, he watches as she tucks strands of her dark hair behind her ear and takes the offered piece of bread from one of the other servants. He has missed the fact that it is nearly dinner time. It seems like his stomach is satisfied by the heady taste of wine. Nevertheless, he is distracted by the way the fat beads of sweat are sliding down her pale neck only to pool between the valley of her generous breasts. He smirks, his mood lightening up for a brief moment.

"She wouldn't dare, I pay her too much." George's voice cuts through his musings like a blade.

Rochester scowls, "You shouldn't pay a whore so much."

"Ah, look who's talking." Etherege mutters, "If you don't pay, you don't get quality."

The Earl's eyes dutifully follow the movements of the girl's lips as she eats. For a girl her size she is nibbling on the stale bread with great moderation. He is impressed and his anger and indignation are pushed aside for a moment.

Why anger? The silly milkmaid has spurned his gift by deciding not to wear it. Ignorant little cunt. Not to mention that the manservant next to her has his eyes on her like a man starved. _Pathetic._

"I have to disagree. But I guess, lack of payment will force you to work harder in order to get what you want." His tone is laced with mockery and light, barely there venom, but one shouldn't expect any less; not from him anyway.

"Ouch, Johnny. But I suppose you are right. I do get bored easily, unlike you who strive to work for it. How's it going with Barry?"

The Earl's entire form stiffens at the mention of the woman's name. Gritting his teeth, he narrows his eyes as he tries to sponge as much tranquillity from the girl's image as his nature allows. He is unsuccessful when the servant, a youth no older than nineteen, leans closer to peer at her face. She blushes and through her still mildly clean face he can see nervousness and embarrassment. His brow furrows and he cocks his head to the side as she distances herself a little from the young man.

"I won the bet, didn't I?" He spats out more harshly than he wants to, furious that the little mousy girl can so easily ruffle him with her self-preservation antics. She doesn't feel good at being gawked at…She wants to be invisible, but she cannot.

"That was not my question."

"It's the only one that concerns you." Rochester takes another drink from his goblet, "Not to mention that you are just jealous."

Etherege chokes on his drink as he starts chuckling, "Jealous?"

Rochester turns to look at him, trying to put the girl out of his mind long enough to be his usual biting self, "Yes. You pretend to be my friend and yet I can see the greed swimming in your eyes because you are simply envious of your noble friends." He smirks a little, "Try and deny that. It's why you surround us, isn't it? And let's just be honest, George." He takes a step closer to his friend, "You were lucky once. You wrote something that had success? Yes, you did. But it's been years."

Etherege's nostrils flare, "What about you?"

"I never claimed to be a playwright." He takes another sip from his drink, his eyes flickering about the room for Alcock, but he is nowhere to be seen.

"What about that raunchy play?"

Rochester smirks his crooked little sneer, "That is under evaluation. Now, I suppose you have to eat…Alcock!" The yell is loud, but effective.

There is some rustling and then footsteps, "Me Lord?"

"How's dinner?" he grumbles and the servant nods.

"It's almost ready."

"Good. Mr. Etherege will stay the night. Prepare his food in the dining room and set up a guest room for him."

"What about you?" George wrinkles his nose as the Earl whirls around, dismissing Alcock.

"I'm not hungry…" he mutters as he presses his shoulder against the window. The girl is not there and he frowns. He spots her a moment later, a few feet away from the apple tree with her hands smoothing down her mess of a dress.

Her face has lost its flushness and her expression is forlorn. For a moment he wonders why. He sneers at his own thought. Why should he care why the little peasant is sad?

 _Because she is your new pet project._

He bites his tongue hard and cranes his neck. His is not left to wonder. He follows her gaze and for a moment he stills. A bark of laughter escapes him and George is startled.

"What is so amusing?" he grumbles, "Despite your reluctance to eat with your friend, of course…" He approaches, but Rochester moves towards the centre of the window and blocks his path.

"Nothing. I just remembered something." He murmurs, but it is certainly not nothing. He just saw how the girl's eyes followed the other men's food with hunger. His smirk drops immediately and he sobers up, wondering, _musing_ how in hell the famine of someone has come to amuse him. He grinds his teeth hard together when the sinister voice in his head decides to whisper low in his ear, like a little devil sitting on his shoulder and provoking him to unleash his haughty side from its harness.

 _She is chubby. She will_ ** _always_** _be hungry._

 _Why does the King deserve to have a round belly? He is a worthless cully._ His milder self points out and his muscles clench momentarily, his rebellious side rearing its ugly head.

Pursing his lips, he pushes away from the window, "Enjoy your dinner, George." He mutters and he slams his empty goblet onto the silver tray as he makes his way out of the room with rapid footsteps.

"Good Lord…" Etherege collapses in chair and smirks at the walls that are surrounding him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Well?" He drawls as soon as Alcock is inside his chamber. Rochester pauses, quill poised above the parchment in front of him, dark hair obscuring his obsidian eyes.

"Well," the servant places a tray of food on the Earl's desk, "I did as you bade me."

Rochester pushes his hair back in an agitated manner.

"And?"

"She did not accept the food, me Lord."

"What?" Rochester is bewildered. Not something that happens often.

"Aye. I gave her the pot of food as you bade me. She looked at it, eyes eager, her round cheeks flushed the colour of blood and then she just…thrust the food back at me. The soup was spilled and it is now all over my livery. She is an idiot." Alcock scoffs.

"I told you not to mention-…"

"Me Lord, the little wench doesn't even understand English. She just refused and went back to her digging with the shovel. Maybe she doesn't like lentils." He pours wine into a glass and then smirks, barely stifling a snort, "You want to mount _that_? Seriously?"

He doesn't even see the motion as the Earl grabs the full wine glass and empties it on him in one mighty throw.

The servant sputters and releases an undignified yelp, "Me Lord!"

"Idiot." Rochester hisses, "Watch your tongue or I'll cut it off and add it to the lentils!"

Alcock shakes the wine off of him by flailing his arms, "Apologies."

Rochester sneers, "I have no use for them. Now, get out of my sight." He slams the glass on top of the tray, rattling it and the servant knows not to linger. Rolling his eyes, he walks out of the chamber without bothering to rekindle the dying fire.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"You will never be able to finish this. The ground is too unsteady. You're putting all these people through hell for nothing." Etherege looks up at the moody, overcast sky with narrowed eyes, "I am telling you. Let it go. Besides," he slips closer, speaking in the Earl's ear, "can you even afford all this?"

Rochester doesn't speak. He only gazes at the work in process with critical eyes.

"There's nothing a man cannot do. We just need some dry weather."

Etherege snorts only to receive a glare from his friend.

"Won't you leave?" The Earl's mouth curls in a displeased manner as he turns to look at the other man, "Do you perhaps wish to help?"

George makes a funny noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head. His smirk causes Rochester's skin to crawl for some reason.

"No, I simply wanted to watch that." He waves a hand towards Leentje's direction and the Earl pauses. He narrows his eyes, but says nothing.

"Have you noticed that she is the only woman working here?"

"Your point?" Rochester mutters as his eyes refuse to look towards the girl's direction. She has proven to be too much of a distraction. He doesn't need to start questioning his morals. They are perfectly nonexistent.

"My point is that despite her…appearance, she is strong."

Rochester's mouth curls upwards on one side, "Indeed."

"Just imagine what she can do-…."

"Spit it out before it chokes you, Georgie." He rolls his eyes as his gaze finally, _finally_ , settles on the girl.

"I want to make a bet with you."

Rochester quirks a single eyebrow, "Oh?"

"I bet that you cannot have her under you in less than two months."

"And why would I want to have _that_ under me?" Rochester is smirking now, his eyes narrowed, but his tone too dark to be inviting.

Etherege shrugs, "It is just a bet, Johnny. Do you accept?"

"Why should I even try when I can have something better with fewer efforts?"

"The temptation of challenge. Besides, I can see how you look at her. It's the eyes, isn't it?"

Rochester turns to face him fully, ignoring the barks of dogs and the voices of the workers.

"What's in it for me?" He doesn't comment on his friend's words, deciding to ignore them before they come to bite him in the arse.

Etherege seems surprised, "You are willing to agree?"

"What's in it for me, George?" He gently thuds his cane against the soil underneath his feet, the corner of his eye catching sight of Leentje as she ties something into the waistband of her muddied apron.

"Ten guineas if you succeed."

Rochester curls his lip, "You value me so little?"

"No. I value _her_ so little."

The Earl's ears prickle with heat at those words and he is upset that they do.

"Fifteen or there is no deal."

"What if you lose? Do you have enough to pay me back?" George is grinning condescendingly and Rochester grins, his teeth a perfect show of slyness.

"You have a deal, my friend."

Etherege grabs the Earl's hand and shakes it before he takes a step back, "Shall I see you in London soon then?"

His question remains unanswered when Rochester simply looks at him blankly, his lips a straight line of impatience. Raising his hands up in surrender, George snickers and turns to walk away.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The puppy has been around their feet all day. Leentje has seen it before and she sees it now. Every now and then she pauses to shoo it away from the large pit, but the animal keeps treading towards it from time to time, sniffing the ground and playing with the worker's boots as they work. Most of them are ignorant of the dog and their obliviousness goes as far as nearly trampling it when they step too harshly on the slippery ground to steady themselves.

She is always on edge, nearly oblivious of everything else except of one. The fact that Heer Rochester has appeared and he is not alone. He has barely glanced her way and she is relieved. Relieved because he makes her uncomfortable, relieved because she still hasn't understood why he chose to give her the new cap. The first thought that immediately came to her mind at first was one; ridicule. Yes, he was probably trying to tease her, make fun of her, but then again…why offer her such a gift? Said gift is lying neatly folded under her straw pillow in her little cabin, untouched and unsoiled. She isn't planning on wearing it.

She shakes her head and secures the knot of her old cap around the waistband of her dirty apron. She will always carry her mother's gift around no matter of its condition. That will probably seem amusing to anyone else, but not to her.

Voices dance around her ears as she leans down to carry more water and she is glad that she can't understand the language. In a way it offers her protection. When she can't understand the words, they can't hurt her. Right?

Other times, the foreign syllables are ominous though, weighing down on her and she prays that some day she will be able to understand them. Sighing, she starts kneeling next to Thomas, always next to Thomas, but she is distracted by the dog again. The little grey puppy is moving dangerously close to the edge of the pit that the workers are striving to create and in one swift, careless motion the dog slides and falls right into the muddy hole.

Leentje gasps and leaps forward, causing Thomas to look at her sharply.

"What is it? I need you here-…Leentje!"

She doesn't look back as she slips forward onto her hands and knees to reach the distressed little creature that is whining pathetically from the pit.

" _De hond!"_ she exclaims breathlessly as she pushes a man out of her way. The man grunts and tries to shove her back. She gasps when she finds herself tipping forward and right into the poorly constructed dam.

Pain erupts up and down her arm, but thankfully when she finally lands it is on her back. Water and mud splash her face and she can hear commotion. Thomas' voice is among the shouts, but she ignores them all long enough to spot the dog. The little pup is by her feet, fur soiled and ears folded back in regret. Sighing with relief, she slides towards the messy animal, hand outstretched.

A cane comes and connects sharply with her wrist and she gasps at the unexpected pain. Looking up, she goes three shades of red at the sight of the Earl gazing down at her with poorly disguised disgust.

"Get up." He mutters the words and she can see that he is holding all the other men back and away from her. He is not allowing her to receive help. Her skin grows darker from embarrassment, but she understands what he wants her to do. She has heard those words before. He wants her to stand up. She will do so after taking the puppy with her.

Moving forward, she reaches for the pup again, but Rochester's cane comes and connects painfully, more painfully than before, with her arm. Clutching her offended arm with wide eyes, she watches as he leans down and grabs the dog by its tiny scruff, pulling it from the pit.

He releases the animal sharply and the dog lands on its tiny feet by the Earl's boots. The pup releases a bark, but Rochester proceeds to ignore it. He has his eyes on her instead.

"Don't ever interfere with the work again. Your presence here is over. Get out. You look ridiculous." He mutters and with one look at Thomas the younger man lurches forward to grab her arm in an attempt to pull her out.

She cries out in pain, but listens as Thomas tries to repeat the Earl's words in her tongue.

Nodding her head, she purses her lips as she steps onto the solid ground. Keeping her head low, she tries to brush dirt off her arms, but it is useless. The forming bruise on the underside of her arm is already throbbing and already marring a large portion of her pale skin. She does look ridiculous and suddenly she wants to disappear. She doesn't though. Taking a deep breath, she raises her head and dares to look at Rochester in the eye. He is sneering, but his eyes are curious and glimmering.

"I'm sorry." she whispers quietly, but her eyes are fierce. "Please."

Rochester rolls his eyes and reaches up to rub at his eyes only to stop short. His fingers are covered in dirt from the dog. He knows what the plea is for. Little does she know that he doesn't plan to dismiss her. No, that would make his little ongoing bet null and void. Keeping on his blank expression, he looks at her pitiful face.

"Cabin, Ms. Bakker." He mutters and she flushes, clearly understanding the words. Ducking her head, she brushes past him and Thomas, walking unsteadily away and towards her refuge. Rochester fights the urge to scowl when the little muddy bastard pup decides to follow her, shaking dirt off of him as he does so.

The men snicker and snort at the spectacle she is making of herself, but Rochester doesn't find it in him to start smirking as well. His insides are slightly turned, rolling around his body like a burning inferno. Shaking his head, he convinces himself that he doesn't feel sorry for humiliating her. If he hadn't done so the stupid girl would most likely kill herself under his watch. That would also ruin his little wager.

Instead, he looks at the men and narrows his eyes, "Keep going. It's getting dark and I want _this_ finished by seven." He thrusts his cane underneath his armpit and starts backing away when something catches his eye. A nearly dark, but very familiar piece of cloth is lying in the mud. This time his mouth does curve upwards and he allows it. Chuckling to himself, he leans down. He even has to kneel in order to reach the soiled beyond repair cloth and he snarls in distaste. He curls his fingers around it and pulls it from the mud. He straightens with a wince, resisting the urge to cradle his side in his hand as pain nearly causes him to stumble.

"Fuck." He curses quietly with a small husky groan. Biting his lip hard, he turns around and slowly makes his way back to the manor.

He closes her mistreated cap inside his fist and allows his crooked smirk to reappear despite the pain gnawing at his insides.

He has to lean more on his walking stick than he would like, but he feels elated. Let the little ungrateful wench suffer with the loss of her precious little cloth. Let her wait. Let her drown in misery with the fear of losing her position and her beloved cap. He wonders what's so special about this…abomination she calls a cap. It's ridiculous. He has half a mind to throw it away, but then he changes his mind. She'd probably kiss his feet if he were generous enough to return the ludicrous little thing back to her. The thought is alluring and he grins. Yes, the image of her on her knees is enough for him to shiver in anticipation.

Quickening his pace he thrusts his hand with the cloth beneath his billowing cloak.

Let her wait. He has a bet to win.

 **End of chapter 3**

 **Author's note: Thank you for reading.**

 ***Translation: De hond= the dog***


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Chapter 4**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.**

 **Chapter 4**

 ** _The petty man is eager to make boasts, yet desires that others should believe in him. He enthusiastically engages in deception, yet wants others to have affection for him. He conducts himself like an animal, yet wants others to think well of him._**  
~ _ **Xun Zi**_

She hates the rain. She really hates it. It is always raining in this country. It is always raining like there is no tomorrow. Nothing but filth, mud and humidity. It seems as if her entire life is constructed out of liquid matter; water and sweat. It was wet when she was born, out in the open in mid January, it was raining when her family had to struggle to make a living, it was raining when she lost her mother and it is raining now.

She abandons the soaked apron she has thrown on her thin makeshift bed and takes a look outside the wooden door. It is pouring down again. All activities have stopped on the other side of the estate and she can see Thomas and a few other men walking back to their shelters with long faces and empty pockets. If the work is not progressing they are not getting paid. That is the rule.

Leentje nearly scoffs. Who is paying all the trouble, sweat and blood these men sacrifice? No one. Food, and sometimes not so warm, in this weather is their only payment.

Looking away, she starts pacing the small cabin and she doesn't care that she is leaving wet mucky tracks behind. She is probably not going to live here any longer, is she? The thought brings a wave of panic. She had thought that she'd have employment till the end of summer. She had made plans to start asking around for future placements. There was nothing she couldn't do except one; she couldn't speak the tongue.

Cursing in her native speech, she runs a hand through her long stringy hair. Fisting a few strands, she grimaces and leans heavily against the wall behind her. She drops her hands form her hair, refusing to let her eyes well with tears, and trails them to her waist. Realizing that she has already removed the filthy apron she freezes. She checks the dress's pocket, but nothing. It is not there either. Pushing away from the wood, she walks over to the narrow bed. Leaning down, she grasps the apron, checking under it and in between the creases created by overuse, but nothing.

Eyes wide, she looks up. Her eyes roam the cabin while her hand slides beneath the thin pillow at the head of her bed. Nothing. It is missing.

Standing up, she storms towards the door only to stop short, nearly stumbling in the process. She cannot go out in this rain. Not again. Looking at the sky and then at the open grounds ahead, she grits her teeth and remains standing there until Mary appears from behind the stables.

Leentje tenses up at the way the woman's lips are pursed. Her expression seems troubled too.

The rounded woman looks up when she notices Leentje's stare and waves, quickening her footsteps and huddling deeper under her thick hood.

" _What are you doing outside? Get inside, for God's sake."_

A hand on her arm propels her backwards and she looks at Mary with wide eyed expectation.

" _Well?"_

Mary looks at her with a frown. " _Well what?"_

Leentje hesitates. " _Surely you have some news. I can see it in your face."_

Mary sighs and closes the door. " _I do have something for you, but…What were you doing?"_

Leentje swallows hard as Mary spots her small bundle of belongings. _"Getting ready to leave the grounds-…"_

" _Are you out of your wits? Whoever gave that order?"_ Mary looks genuinely confused.

" _I thought…"_

" _You are not to go anywhere until you have a direct order. Don't be silly, girl. Where will you go in this weather?"_

Leentje feels drained and she is not shy to show it. _"What am I to do then? Wait until someone comes to drag me out of here?"_

" _No one is dragging you out of here. Thomas told me what happened. Everyone is aware of his lordship's temper. But he did not dismiss you if my sources are correct. Now, what has you in such a state besides his scolding?"_

Leentje closes her eyes in resignation. _"I lost it."_

Mary frowns. _"Lost what? Money?"_

" _How would I have any money? I haven't been paid this week."_

Mary removes her cape after lowering her hood. " _Then what did you lose?"_

Leentje bites her lip. _"Mother's cap."_

Mary sighs. _"Heavens, girl. I thought something deadly had happened."_

" _To me it is a loss, Mary."_

" _I told you not to carry it around."_ Mary raises a hand, " _No one could've stolen it._ _It's not valuable so…"_ She looks up, " _We shall find it once the weather has cleared."_ She smiles and Leentje shakes her head.

" _We won't. The grounds are flooded. It's gone."_ Clearing her throat and rubbing at her eyes, she inclines her head, _"So, what news do you have for me?"_

Mary hesitates. _"Not news really…I just brought you something."_ She smiles and pushes her cloak apart. What she pulls out tears a gasp from Leentje.

" _My God!"_

" _It's not new, but I thought it'd be a better fit than the one you have on."_ Mary outstretches her hand with the dress, _"I also think the colour will match your skin."_

Leentje smiles widely and reaches for the pale blue cotton dress. _"Who does it belong to?"_

Mary's smile drops from her face and she clears her throat. _"It belonged to one of the chamber maids…We lost her to a serious case of pneumonia a few days ago."_

Leentje's smile sobers up as she quickly looks at the dress. " _Oh. I am so sorry….Doesn't she have any relatives-…"_

" _No one. Most of her belongings have been thrown away, but I managed to salvage this. She didn't wear it much so it's mostly in good condition. Don't worry, I have washed it and ironed it."_

" _Thank you."_

Mary smiles. " _Good. Now, while we wait for new directions, we need to clean you up before it gets too dark. Help me heat water over the fire."_ She is already walking away and Leentje can do nothing but follow her in compliance.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Go out. Call upon her and the other… laundry woman…" Rochester is warming his hands near the lit candle on his desk.

"You want me to go out now? Me Lord, the ground is a swamp-…"

"Did I _ask_ for your opinion?" His dark eyes fall sharply on his servant who is wearing a dreary expression.

"Me Lord, I thought you dismissed the little wench."

The only swift response he gets is the sound of the Earl's feet as he props them up on the mahogany desk. The angry glare he gets is enough to make him gulp and nearly choke on his saliva.

"So, you did not dismiss her."

"Don't be an idiot!"

Alcock cocks an eyebrow at the passion in his master's voice. "Oh? Is she that valuable?"

"Guinea worthy."

The manservant snickers. "Another bet? The first one is not working in your favour so far, me Lord-…"

"Silence, you imbecile!" The Earl hisses as he stands up. The chair clatters to the ground by his abrupt move, "I have given you way too much freedom and now you mock me! Can't you do one thing without that bloody commentary of yours? It sets my teeth on edge." He spits that last sentence directly in Alcock's face.

The servant takes a step back and wipes his cheek from imaginary spittle before he smirks.

"Aye, me Lord. Will shut me trap now."

Rochester sneers, "I hope that you do." He whirls around and starts pacing.

"Oh, I have it back by the way." Alcock reaches into his pocket and produces the worn, but now clean cotton cloth.

Rochester snatches it out of his hand, but doesn't put it away. He rubs it between his fingers as he turns to gaze at the burning fire. He brings his hand with the cloth up to his face and gazes at it. The fire is peering right at him through the torn cloth and he smirks a little.

 _All that hassle…for this? Pathetic…but highly beneficial._

"Why do you keep it anyway?" Alcock's voice sounds too shrill and Rochester grits his teeth.

"You're still talking, but your feet are still rooted to the ground. Didn't I say that you are to bring the Bakker girl here?"

Alcock scowls, "Aye…" he smirks, "May I be privy to what you shall have her do?"

Rochester grins as he turns around to face the other man. Stepping over to him, he leans closer…and whacks him, his palm connecting loudly with the back of his head.

"Ouch! Me Lord!"

"Do not test me. Get to it. Idiot." He mutters as he walks away, plopping back down to his chair and not looking at his servant again.

Alcock curses under his breath and leaves to do his biding.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The laundry maid enters his study with the girl hot on her heels.

Mary bows and looks at him from under thick eyelashes.

"You asked for us, my Lord?" Her voice is quiet and Rochester looks at the pregnant woman with a cocked eyebrow.

"Dear God. Is it not out yet?" His voice is shocked and haughty, reeking with disbelief.

"No, my Lord. Not much time left though…" Mary straightens and tries a small smile.

Rochester curls his lip, "You're impossibly big."

Mary's cheeks heat with colour, but she doesn't respond to that.

The Earl stands up from his chair and looks at the two women with critical eyes.

"I've brought you here, Ms. Roberts because I am aware that Ms. Bakker does not understand our tongue. I would appreciate it if you explained everything I said to her." He waves his hand towards Leentje who is gazing at them clueless so far.

"Of course, my Lord."

Rochester smiles a wolf's grin. "Excellent." He comes to stand by the hearth again.

"You are aware, I suppose, that I dismissed Ms. Bakker form her work in the dams. I want you to inform her that I am not dismissing her. Ask her to wipe that pathetic expression from her flushed face at once." He curls his lip and Mary rushes to repeat his words in Leentje's tongue.

The girl visible relaxes and her folded hands lose their white-knuckled desperation.

"Thank you." She breathes quietly and her eyes are shining with unadulterated and highly undeserved gratitude. He turns away from the sight because it nauseates him for reasons of his own.

He scowls at the fire and suddenly her tattered cap weighs a ton in his pocket.

 _Damn you, girl._

"I have made arrangements for her to be placed in the stables, to care for the horses and more specifically, my horse." He looks back at them from over his shoulder, but he focuses his gaze on Mary's surprised face. It is easier like this.

"How gracious, my Lord." Mary murmurs although her brow is creased in suspicion.

 _Clever woman._

Never losing the suspicious tinge, she repeats everything to the girl, who freezes in shock at the unexpected turn of events.

 _You thought I'd dismiss you, pet? You're way too much entertaining for that._

He decides to push that nasty bet to the back of his mind. That will only be a bonus anyway. He has no interest in George's little amusement over bets. The gratification of his accomplishment would come much sooner than the money. When the girl would stop hating him; when she'd look at him with wide open acceptance.

He nearly chuckles at the imagery, but stops himself short. Mary is too sharp to be fooled.

"She shall keep her current living arrangements and she will eat breakfast and supper with the rest of the household." He continues as he turns to face them fully.

 _Good. Don't be a coward._

 _Shut up._

Mary's eyes go wide. "You mean…in the kitchen of the estate? Inside…the house?"

Rochester narrows his eyes. "You are included in that, Ms. Roberts. Along with the rest of the staff. Why are you so surprised?"

Mary flushes. "I apologize, my Lord. It is not my place."

"Good. Then pass my desires over to Ms. Bakker. Also," He walks towards them, but he has his eyes on Mary, "I want you to finally teach her our tongue. I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to rely on your… _kindness_ for all my dealings with her. Can you do that?" He cocks a single eyebrow in challenge and Mary blinks rapidly in surprise.

"Um…I could try. Yes."

He nods his head and smiles coldly. "Is there any chance that it can happen…swiftly?" He hides the command behind a thin cover of suggestion and Mary swallows hard, even more suspicious of his eagerness.

"I can…try, my Lord."

"Good." He inclines his head towards the door, "You are excused."

Mary lingers longer than necessary and covers her mistake, by bowing low. Reaching out, she tries to grasp Leentje's hand to tug her along, but Rochester's voice causes her to look up in alarm.

"I'd like a few moments with, Ms. Bakker." He murmurs vaguely, his eyes barely on them.

Mary looks at Leentje and tells her that she is supposed to linger for a moment before she releases her hand.

Taking a step back, she curtsies and leaves the study.

The door closes with her leave and Rochester is finally free to train his eyes on the girl.

The first thing he notes is that she has changed out of that dreadful stifling dress. She is now in a pale blue one that shows off her pale skin. There is no grime or dirt on her face and skin and her hair is a little bit wet.

The bodice seems to actually fit her this time and he has to blink twice in order to speak.

"You may be at ease. I am not here to sign your death warrant… _Magdalena_." He murmurs her name as he comes to stand by the window.

At the sound of her first name, she visibly jolts and her eyes go wide. Her mouth parts in a small _o_ shape and her skin flushes.

He is immediately intrigued by her reaction. Has no one ever called her by her actual, _beautiful_ first name before? He wants to snort out loud, but he stops when she ducks her head and wrings her hands.

He tilts his head to the side and regards her in silence for a few moments. "That _is_ your name, Ms. Bakker, is it not? Magdalena Bakker." He questions, knowing that she cannot fully understand him.

She nods though, a tiny meek smile on her face. From the tiny gap of her lips he can see her white teeth, teeth that proceed to catch her lower lip in their clutch when she realizes that he is staring at her.

Smirking, he purses his lips, resisting the urge to laugh out loud at her antics and instead pushes his hand deep into the pocket of his intricate waistcoat. His fingers brush over the cloth, but he is stunned into stillness when she boldly moves towards him. Her hand is deep in the folds of her dress and then she is pulling out the white lacy cap he gave her.

His eyes gaze at it briefly and he looks at her face as she starts babbling in Dutch.

"Heb je mijn oude, mijn heer gezien?" Her voice is merely a whisper as she comes to stand a few feet away from him and he cocks a single eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?" He smiles just to indulge her and she huffs in distress, her doe eyes roving his private study for something, anything that will help her express herself.

"Um…" She closes her eyes and mutters something in her language and he has to bite his tongue in order not to snort with amusement. He already has a suspicion of what she wants to say, but he doesn't speak. He allows her to battle with what little English she knows. It will only do her good.

 _Let her struggle a bit…_

The girl bites her lips again and tries once more. _"De oude,sir."_

Rochester frowns a bit and shakes his head, internally wondering why on earth he is sitting here, listening to the unintelligible sounds that come out of her plump mouth.

"I fear I do not understand, my girl." He tries to make his expression as innocent as possible when he knows perfectly well what she means.

Yes. Deep in the recesses of his mind he recalls a few phrases from his adventures in the war. If he really put effort into it he'd probably be able to understand, but he has no plans to make this easier for her. He has all the time in the world today. No one to bother him. No wife, no children and no mother.

He nearly sneers at the mere thought of his darling mother, but he decides to focus on the girl again; Magdalena. Yes, her name is endearing. The other, shorter version causes his skin to crawl.

Leentje. What an abomination of a name.

"Old."

His attention is diverted from his inner musings and his eyes lock with the girl's. He wants to smirk at her stubbornness to express herself.

 _Good girl._

"Pardon?"

Shaking the new, unsoiled cap, she repeats herself and his eyes widen in a mockery of sudden realization.

"Oh. That." He curls his lip a little and finally allows his fingers to close around her precious, but nearly ruined property. Making a show of pulling it out of his elaborate waistcoat, he watches with secret glee as her eyes widen. A small little gasp accompanies the gentle swoosh of the fabric as it is finally removed from his pocket. He keeps it close, dangling it in front of her face with perfectly practiced innocence.

"Is this what you mean?" he murmurs with a skilful frown, "Oh, of course. It is yours. Um… _het jouwe_." He is not sure if he spoke the proper word or in the proper word order, but he doesn't care all that much because her eyes sparkle with emotion as soon as the words slip past his lips.

Gasping, she reaches out, ready to pluck the cloth from his ink stained fingers, but he pulls it out of her reach with a husky little chuckle that has her flushing. In anger or embarrassment, he is not sure. He thinks it is both.

"No, not like that. What do you say?" Yes, he is playing with her and he doesn't feel remorse. He rather enjoys it.

Her brow creases in confusion, but he knows that she has understood him.

She bites her lip for the third time and blinks. "Dank u. Thank you." She murmurs and his face loses all amusement suddenly. That was quick. Her quick response has nothing to do with lack of pride, he thinks. It has to do with the item he has between his fingers. He wonders why; why on earth it has such a hold over her.

"Thank you." She repeats and gently reaches out again. This time he allows her to slide the cloth from his fingers and before he can blink, she has his hand clasped in hers.

He tenses up and when she offers him a shy smile and leans down to kiss the back of his hand in gratefulness, he inhales sharply. Her lips barely touch his skin before he snatches his hand back with force.

The girl is startled and takes a step back, her eyes wide and remorseful for a crime she hasn't really committed.

Sneering, he snorts and shakes his head at her. "You're excused." He waves his hand towards the door and she seems all too happy to comply and understand this time.

When she is gone and since he knows that his little scheme actually worked in his favour, he wonders why his hand feels as if it is branded by a hot rod.

 **End of chapter 4**

 **Author's note: Thank you for reading. Another thing, for the Dutch sentences, I am relying on a translator, so if anything is wrong, blame Google. lol**

 ***Translations:**

 **Heb je mijnoude, mijn heergezien?=** **Have you seen my old one, my lord?**

 **De oude,sir= the old one, sir.**

 ** _Het jouwe= Yours_** *****


End file.
